


Flinch

by WinterDusk



Series: Have Tesseract, Will Travel [7]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Female!Loki - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male!Loki, Post-Endgame, Prophecy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-07 22:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterDusk/pseuds/WinterDusk
Summary: Loki should have noticed.  The first time he collects Thor from an irate law enforcement officer, he doesn’t think much of it.  Really, he should have.





	Flinch

**Author's Note:**

> Minor warnings for Loki’s gender changes and also for canon-typical xenophobia.
> 
> This story won’t make much sense without reading ‘Keeping Score’. Usually I hope that my one-shots can be picked up without going through the earlier parts in the series. This one? Not so much. If you want to try, you need to know that:  
1) Loki is alive and travelling with Thor and the Guardians of the Galaxy.  
2) Loki and Thor went to an alternative version of Asgard recently.  
3) Thor is still struggling with mental health issues, but has been showing signs of improvement.

Loki should have noticed. Really he should have. It’s just that, in between falling into a deep, magical-exhaustion-induced coma for five days after fighting space-time-multiverse currents; then having to cure a multitude of idiots too foolish to cherish their own healers and witches which, incidentally, also lead to needing rather a lot of sleep; then slipping while sparring with Gamora, leading to a concussion and hence _more_ sleep… Well, he’s been busy.

Or at least sleeping.

So no, the first time he collected Thor from the office of an irate law enforcement officer, he didn’t think much of it.

In fact, in their current company, Loki should probably be impressed that Thor’s not been dragged into the Guardians’ shameful, criminal tendencies earlier. Especially as Thor’s still somewhat more used to _setting_ the laws than _following_ them.

The second time Thor’s arrested, Loki does give him grief for it. Thor’s mechanical eye is twitching and he has trouble meeting Loki’s gaze, so Loki considers the message well and truly received. Because of that, and also because there’s no way Loki’s facing his nightmares alone when it’s Thor who’s been the one who’s misbehaving, he still lets Thor come, curl up in the bed with him.

In short, it takes no less than _three_ arrests before Loki starts to get suspicious. He’s clearly been letting his skills of deduction slip!

#

On the day that overwhelms Loki’s Tolerance-for-Thor-Getting-Arrested, they dock with the Wick, a large Kalmian water-processing station orbiting a late-in-life red giant. It circles the star just outside the orbits of the system’s small, rocky planets, all of which are clearly suffering the advanced stages of desertification. Unlike the death-throes of similar systems, the civilizations from these ones seem to have made it up into space before life became impossible. And there they stalled. Hovering within their solar system yet not quite able to progress into the interstellar void.

Along with the Wick are the Farm, the Shed and the Boutique, as well as a whole flotilla of tiny homeships. Apparently it took the original spacefarers several additional centuries, once in hard vacuum, to work out the intricacies of travelling faster than light.

Truly, from what Loki can see out of the window – also _hear_ courtesy of Quill’s running and scornful commentaries of the local ships – the Kalmians never really did get good at constructing vessels. But what they lack in building skills, they more than make up for with their filtration systems. Hence the Milano’s current plans to dock. Judging by the number and variety of other ships suckling up to the Wick, Quill’s not the only one to scorn the Kalmian shipbuilding but admire their water purity.

“Okay, dudes. Five minutes to docking.”

The cockpit is awash in soft, yellowish light. It’s not from the Wick, but rather reflected sunlight from the system’s third rock out from the sun, whatever it may prove to be called. Currently in close conjunction with the Wick, the Guardians are skirting its gravity well on their way in.

Looking down on the sand bowl, Loki wonders whether Thor will take the desiccated surface as a challenge. But, when he looks over to his brother – sitting right at the back, where the ship widens into the communal area – it’s to see that he’s cradling his axe close, fingers smoothing over and over her head as though to wear her smooth.

He’s got his eyes closed. Loki wonders whether he’s started to develop migraines.

Come to think of it, Thor’s been rather withdrawn since… Well, to be honest, since their return from Asgard-as-was.

At first – in so much as Loki noticed _anything_ in between frantically running about trying to cure the sick – Loki put Thor’s slumping mood down to exhaustion and disorientation. Also, most likely, a hangover. It’s just that there have been too many ups among Thor’s recent downs for that to be the explanation.

Loki has also considered that Thor might be grieving, in a strange, withdrawn type of way. Whether his mind could be lingering on the people he’d seen there. Whether, just as Loki is, he sometimes wonders what would have happened if, just maybe, they’d stayed.

That would have been a terrible idea. They’d have been far more likely to destroy the timeline than rectify it. But, while on Asgard, Loki might have taken the opportunity to collect small trinkets and copy valuable – now lost – texts. And he’d collected seed samples. Their room currently bears closer resemblance to a forest than Groot’s, for all that the teenager’s shedding.

Thor has brought back nothing; not that Loki can see. Save for a strange habit of flinching and a tendency to overshare when talking with strangers in bars. It’s like he got infected with jaded-old-warrior. Well, more than he already had been.

Loki’s beginning to wonder if he should worry. Maybe he should get Thor checked out. Surely there’ll be a healer somewhere on board the Wick? And Asgardian physiology can’t be _that_ odd in the grand scheme of space-goers. Can it?

His resolve lasts until they disembark. While the Wick’s switching the Milano’s too-recycled-tasting water for water that’s actually been recycled a whole lot more yet will, apparently, taste a whole lot better, Rocket leads them to a nearby bar. There’s drinking and a nice, local, dart-throwing game that Loki’s doing well at winning and, in general, what seems to be a large number of people having a nice time.

It’s only when the constabulary come to summon Loki from an impromptu tournament in the small hours of the morning that he realises that he hasn’t seen his brother in hours.

#

Loki’s not certain what’s the most infuriating aspect of it all. That he’s called away, utterly unexpectedly, to deal with a crisis of his brother’s making? Or that Thor is, apparently, getting rather good at lying to him about what it’s all about? If this is some extreme manner of seeking vengeance for having to clean up _Loki’s_ messes while upon Midgard, then Loki will have to hand it to Thor; he’s certainly grown a lot more subtle.

Alas, he fears that forces more dangerous than mere sibling pay-back are at play.

It’s a sensation that doesn’t leave when he and Quill collect Thor from a clean and well-tended cell at the end of a long corridor. Quill’s scowling – he’s had to sign over credits and put his name to a number of forms to get them this far – yet to Loki’s surprise, when they enter the cell, he doesn’t launch into an immediate tirade. Rather he steps aside as if to cede precedence to Loki.

The problem is that, in a dearth of information, Loki has no idea what to say.

Thor looks up at him, that atrocious shaggy fringe of his in need of another trim, and his eyes do that little flicker, there-gone-and-back-again, that he’s started to fall into the habit of. For all that, when he finally does settle down to meeting Loki’s gaze, he appears only agitated, rather than repentant.

Loki hardens his heart. He ignores Thor’s pleas – unsupported by any actual, logical reasoning – that they return to the house that he was, apparently, arrested in along with an older man. “We need to leave.”

“But Seamus-”

“Will have his own legal representation.” Which, from what the officer of the local law has said, will be needed. On account of the fact that Seamus has a history for mischief impressive enough that Loki _almost_ feels challenged. Thor’s record, thankfully, is not so long. Yet. Apparently the previous two arrests haven’t made it into whatever data-sharing network this region of space has.

Loki intends to use the leeway while he can. Though at the moment the pair of them might be more at risk of Quill getting fed up of putting his name to things and booting them off the ship.

“Get up.” Thor stands. Then stalls. Loki recognises that obstinate look on his brother’s face. This is _not_ the time to argue; why can’t Thor see that?

“Move!” Loki plants his hands behind his brother, gives him a solid push through the door, and gets him going.

Having to treat his brother like a sack of rocks doesn’t put Loki in a good mood. It’s not improved by the fact that, the entire journey back to the Milano, Thor keeps wheedling and begging and generally acting like a lunatic; all to see Seamus one more time.

And yet he won’t say why.

Loki would suspect drugs. _Does_ suspect spellwork. But can’t find any evidence to support either. A more thorough check-up in their cabin, Quill leaning on the doorframe and observing with the air of one invested in the situation, doesn’t reveal anything nefarious, and so Loki is left with the conclusion that either Thor’s losing his mind or he’s doing it on purpose.

_Talk to me._ That’s what he wants to beg of Thor.

What Thor is actually told, by a Quill who looks embarrassed as soon as the words cross his lips is, “The only person you’ll hurt in the long run is yourself.”

Quill’s likely not wrong with that, so, for all that it’s a stupid thing to say, Loki lets it stand. Then he kicks Quill out. It was late when Thor went missing; it’s later still now.

“I’m angry with you.” He tells Thor this both because he is, and also because he wants to see something – anything – register on Thor’s face to show that he’s aware that this is _serious_ business.

Thor doesn’t react. Just stands there, worrying at the cuffs of his robes until they fray.

“Fine.” Loki snaps. “Be like that.” Taking a handful of blankets, he tosses them towards a wall. “But you’re not sleeping with me.” The blankets make a pathetic pile on the chill, metal floor.

Loki wishes he could have made it a more dramatic gesture. But the cabin’s walls are lined with hundreds of pots, attached haphazardly. And the seedlings within are both currently insanely rare and also at a rather fragile point in their growth cycle. Loki daren’t risk knocking them.

He’s also hoping that, just maybe, it’ll snap Thor out of this, whatever it is. That he’ll drop this infatuation with Seamus and apologise enough that Loki can swallow his pride and welcome him back into their bed. That Loki will be able to sleep, safe and warm and, hopefully, without the press of his history screaming though his slumbering brain.

Thor just makes a little nest of blankets. The wall of plants above him seem to loom threateningly and Loki takes note that he’ll have to be careful not to overwater the seedlings until the two of them have sorted out this… strangeness, whatever it may be between them. He doesn’t want the water to spill over and ruin the blankets.

He thinks he might hate Seamus, even though they’ve never met, for whatever this hold is that he has on Thor.

#

Loki sleeps badly.

Of course he does.

He wakes in the dark, heart pounding so quickly he’s almost surprised the muscle hasn’t seized solid, and lies there staring up into the dark. There he dithers. He can either lie here, until morning, waiting and-

This was meant to punish Thor, not himself. Alas that life is never so simple.

He rises in the dark and sneaks out of their room, the main corridor shockingly bright after the void that he’s left. Standing in the Milano’s small bathroom, Loki sticks his head under the running taps. Takes a few mouthfuls of water. Tells himself that it definitely does taste better than it did before the restocking.

Tells himself that there’s nothing dark and dangerous hiding in the shadows. Can’t make himself believe that.

He really wants to curl up in that little nest with Thor.

Instead he goes to the common area, empty apart from Drax, who has apparently drawn their night watch and is using it as an opportunity to polish his knives. Again.

Drax isn’t… Well, it’s not like he’s Nebula. _She_ still sends ice-chill-fear down Loki’s spine, and he’s beginning to reach the dreadful conclusion that the sensation’s never going to go away. Who’d _ever_ have _thought_ that torture might have a long-term fall out?

So Drax _isn’t_ the last person that Loki wants to see. It’s just that he tends to be to Thor’s friend. (And Loki doesn’t have much luck with Thor’s friends; not usually.) Drax spars with Thor and he talks, voice low and calm, with Thor. And he’s the one to touch Thor – him and Rocket – the only ones to really do so other than Loki.

It seems silly, but Loki thinks that, for Thor, those friendly touches might be important.

Suddenly he’s grateful that Thor’s friend is here. Because maybe if they just put their heads together, then everything will become apparent.

Taking a bottle of juice from the cooler, he moves over to Drax and sits down. Pulls the tab on the drink. Toys with it for a moment, wondering what to say.

Drax turns a knife over, the glimmering light of it briefly catching at Loki’s eyes. They’re very nice blades, truly. Well-crafted and carefully maintained. A bit longer and heavier than those of Loki’s preference, but then, maybe it’s just as well that they favour weapons of different dimensions. It wouldn’t do to find Drax stealing Loki’s blades.

Apparently it’s harder to ask about your sort-of-brother probably-going-crazy then Loki had expected. He’s having trouble figuring out the words to start with.

Knife maintenance apparently finished, Drax slides each into a sheath; puts the lid on his bottle of oil; and folds that, and the rag he’s been using, into a small case that goes, in turn, into one of the large pockets in his trousers. “Thor is acting very oddly.”

“Ah.” Trust Drax to get to the meat of a problem. “Yes.”

Drax’s voice is flat, bordering on accusatory: “Why?”

And if that isn’t the question… “I have no idea.” So much for receiving intellectual enlightenment from any companion of Thor’s. He should go.

Yeah. Go back to his cold bunk and dark nightmares. To a brother who’s banished – for his misdeeds – to sleep upon the floor, and to a mystery that Loki can’t even fathom out the question of, forget the answers.

Loki doesn’t rise; doesn’t leave.

“Well. Luckily for you, I have many ideas.” Drax nods decisively, leans back, and folds his arms across his broad chest, clearly settling in for a long conversation. “During your time-travel, he could have been exposed to an alien narcotic and-”

“Tested for that.”

“Well, then, he could have been replaced by a doppelganger who-”

“Nope.”

“Someone could hold incriminating evidence of a licentious relationship.”

There’s an almost infinite number of ways to shoot down Drax’s endless and idiotic suggestions. And it should be frustrating, though oddly enough, passing the time to dawn isn’t so hard after all. Not that either he or Drax seem to stumble across anything new. Nonetheless, it’s strangely reassuring to realise how many negative possibilities they can lay to rest.

#

In fact, it takes until the next noon for Loki to get a clue. Alas that he doesn’t recognise it as such at the time.

Loki has returned to their room as the ship’s systems have cycled through to ‘dawn’. Has taken fresh clothes and gone to bathe. Has taken the time to tidy up the braids Thor worked into his hair. That had been a while back; maybe an entire week since their last bath-and-lounging day.

Maybe Thor is feeling neglected again.

Or maybe the neglect is a reflection of Thor’s state of mind.

Thoughts churning, Loki looks in on their cabin, calling Thor to breakfast, for all that their actual meal should more accurately be named brunch. And also that Thor is highly unlikely to have been fasting throughout the night.

“Yes?” His brother is blinking into wakefulness. “I’ll be there.”

Hence Loki had gone on to the communal area. Had warmed a drink and closed his eyes and let his thoughts, his mind and, incidentally his Seidr wander. Had listened to the tendrils of fate and had wondered why they seemed so… lacking in urgency of late.

Maybe mother truly _is_ watching over him.

Absently he realises that he’s summoned the tesseract and is petting its surface.

“You’re going to have to keep an eye on that soon.” From the sounds of it, Rocket’s entered the room mainly to hurl items from their rightful storage compartments. “We’re planning to get one of our old crew members back. I’m not sure how she’ll take to a weird, glowing, mystical thing. She might even make off with it.”

Loki opens his eyes and looks at Rocket – light-fingered thief extraordinaire and, in so far as Loki can tell, more magpie than racoon – and keeps his mouth shut. The hypocrite of the moment is rummaging through a box, one of many in the ship’s walls, and, when his paws emerge, he’s clutching not a gun or a bomb, but what _looks_ like a fairly innocuous communications device. Loki wonders how it can be used to impale someone.

“Oh?” He angles for more information.

Rocket just bares his teeth in what’s probably meant to be a humorous grin. “Can’t wait to see what she makes of _you_. It’ll be good to have external validation.”

External validation? Another interrogator then. Maybe another daughter of Thanos. Loki can feel his shoulder blades twitch as though taken with the urge to start digging him out, through the ship’s wall to the dubious safety of cold, hard vacuum. He forces his posture to remain unaffected.

He holds the tesseract; his escape is ensured.

“Validation of what?” Loki has, by his usual standards, been remarkably forthcoming with Thor’s new companions. What more can they reasonably ask of him?

Rocket doesn’t award Loki the dignity of looking up as he replies, focussing instead on hitting a series of buttons on the communicator. “Why, the fact that you’re a complete softy at heart.”

Loki snarls – can’t help it – though at least he maintains sufficient dignity to not retort, _am not_, like some child.

If Rocket’s smirk, directly mostly at the now-flashing device, is anything to go by, Loki’s growing too transparent by half.

It’s about then that he realises that Thor’s taking more time than is usual to emerge. Maybe he’s gone for a shower? Either that, or maybe one of their crewmates has cornered him and…?

_Please don’t let him be going back into_ those _dark depressions_. Loki isn’t certain how he’ll be able to cope if Thor regresses _that_ far; not back to a person who can barely be dragged from bed.

Dread pooling in his belly, Loki rises and tosses his half-finished drink in the recycler. “Catch you at the Data Bureau.” Quill’s already there, looking for bounty. Loki should head out; check that he picks something appropriate.

Rocket grunts in reply, which Loki chooses to take as a farewell.

Back at their cabin, and Thor’s still in his little nest of blankets. Loki’s lungs feel gripped in lead. For while, on the face of it, Thor’s looking at a small tablet in his hands – likely one of Groot’s – his face is blank; his eyes empty and unmoving.

Loki feels his heart drop. It really _is_ going to be one of _those_ days.

_Please, let it only be_ one _day!_

Why now? Thor had been… On Asgard-as-was he’d been amazing; truly heroic again. Saving civilisations and even the culprit, a poor waylaid dragon. He’d been _better_ than amazing. He’d shown an utter disregard for the need to keep up with others’ expectations that, frankly, Loki wishes had been more in evidence throughout their childhood. And as for how he’d risen to the unexpected!

Now it’s like he’s taken three steps back. Or worse. The silences, the breaking and entering, the brooding. If Loki didn’t know the resonances of his own Seidr, he’d fear that the Loki of that _other_ realm had pulled some dark trick; stealing his brother’s form and sneaking back to the main multiverse with them.

But Thor is just Thor.

This new, broken version.

Rocket, heading for the airlock and a day of productive activity, passes Loki in the corridor with a jaunty, “See you later, A-holes.”

It should probably be Loki’s cue to stop loitering in the doorway as he currently is.

“Yeah. Later.”

He steps into the room, weary. “Thor?” No response. “Are you ready to head out?” He knows Thor’s not.

Kneeling besides Thor, his knees on the edge of that pile of blankets, Loki carefully places his hands over Thor’s. Makes Thor lower the tablet and tries to place himself in Thor’s line of sight.

“Brother?” That title usually works.

It works this time, Thor, thankfully, not being _that_ far sunk into himself. But the gaze that meets Loki’s is watery with tears.

He’d thought they were _past_ this! That it was _better_! That _Thor_ was better. That he could _stop_ walking on eggshells and-

Loki bits his tongue. Bites it until he swears he can taste blood. Then maintains the pressure for a moment longer. Only when he’s truly certain the need to rage is gone does he dare speak. “What is it?” He wants to sound gentle, but mostly he sounds like he’s so irritated that he’s bitten his own tongue to clumsiness.

“I can’t go back.” Thor is sitting in the pile of blankets, rocking. For once he’s not holding Stormbreaker. No, Stormbreaker’s safely on the bed, like a baby ready to be tucked in. “I just can’t.”

“We’re only going to the bureau. Not the bar or the police precinct.” Anyway, arrest for trespass aside, Thor truly hasn’t done anything so unforgivable. This shame seems out of all proportion.

Being out of proportion seems to have been Thor’s more recent trick.

“I can’t. I can’t.”

How long does Loki have to put up with this? How long does _anyone_ expect _Loki_, God of Lies and Generally Being a Jerk, to put up with this?

And even though Loki can already tell that it’s useless to try to reason with Thor when he’s in this state, he can’t seem to help but ask, “Why not?”

“I- I-” The wetness in Thor’s eye spills over and he shakes his head. Briefly he pulls one hand free of Loki’s. With great predictability Loki knows that he’s about to be supplanted by a hunk of sharpened metal. But then Thor’s hand changes course, reaching not for the bed, but rather to tug Loki close instead. “I’ll do better. I promise. Just not today.”

And like that, Loki’s irritation is gone. He folds his arms up, around this fool he can’t seem to stop caring for, and lets his head rest on Thor’s shoulder. “That’s okay. We don’t have to go anywhere today.”

#

Later Loki will pick up the tablet.

Thor has cried himself out and is sleeping, head cradled in Loki’s lap and Loki is bored. He’s set braids in his brother’s hair, has deadheaded all of the flowering plants within arm’s reach, and has – after reflecting on Drax’s good example – cleaned a few of his favoured knives.

Now, faced with a further wait for his sleeping challenge to awaken, Loki looks for additional entertainment.

What he finds, on starting Groot’s device, is the local news web. An unknown face but one with a name familiar from the officer the previous night. Seamus: murdered.

#

They have a slow, lazy day and then experience a somewhat frantic evening; Quill insisting that he’s found a last minute job and sending people hither and thither to collect various supplies. Thor steadfastly refuses to leave the ship and no one seems willing to push the matter.

After the death of Thor’s drinking-buddy-come-criminal-partner, Loki’s not really got high expectations for Thor’s capacity that day. Regardless, he doesn’t expect to return to find Thor still curled up in his nest while an exasperated Groot is skulking about having apparently struggled, then failed, to take a comms message. Valkyrie called. Groot answered. Thor didn’t take over.

Loki thinks that he might shout and scream at that point, but apparently his capacity for feigning calm has depths he’d never suspected, for the crew manages to get underway without misadventure while Loki tries and utterly fails to reconnect the call to Earth.

“It’s like that sometimes.” Any warmth Loki’s indignation had stoked in him is frozen instantaneously by that voice.

Carefully not turning around – just act indifferent until you can _be_ indifferent – Loki asks, “Oh?”

“Earth. Too much space junk in orbit.” Nebula says. “Without the usual signal boosters.”

“Ah.” His fingers feel glued to the panel, but even if he gets off an SOS, who’s going to respond before she guts him? Again.

It’s almost impossible to remind himself that Nebula’s not here to hurt him.

He tries.

“I didn’t realise you were so familiar with Earth’s communications systems.”

“After Fath- _Thanos_ died, I was involved with the Avengers.”

It takes Loki a moment to remember that she means _this_ multiverse’s Thanos. The one Thor killed at the height of his victory. That one. “I didn’t realise they recruited supervillains.”

“I’m not sure,” she says, reaching past him to flip various switches; suddenly Loki finds it a whole lot easier to back away from the communications kit, “that they realise the extent of my crimes.”

Well, that’s understandable. They are rather extensive. Loki’s not sure _anyone_ knows the true extent of them, Nebula herself included.

“Let me see if…” She twists with a few more dials. Still nothing; only the static of space rays. “Maybe…” And then, suddenly, a thump: her fist on the console. “Piece of crap!” The console doesn’t respond.

“I’m not sure that’s going to help.” But it does give Loki the opportunity to edge, very slowly but with great intent, out of the tiny comms cupboard.

Clearly speaking with Valkyrie is not going to happen today. It’s actually a relief.

#

They fly about the galaxy some more; raid a temple on an abandoned moonlet; drink bright pink Hotz beer while watching rat-sized, iridescently coloured space-worms nibble their way back and forth across the rocky surface. The aesthetics of the moment quickly descends into a hard betting contest, trying to determine which worms will come out on top.

Thor is at Loki’s side, jammed in between him and Gamora as they all try to sit, like birds along a cliffside, with their legs hanging out of the Milano’s main hatch to watch the shimmering display.

“It’s beautiful,” says Quill, on Loki’s other side. For once his face is turned from Gamora and he seems genuinely stricken by the display of colours and motion.

“Mantis would like this.” Drax manages to convey that watching fornicating bugs is not, in his opinion, a worthy activity, but also that he understands that the universe is full of fools entitled to their own opinions. “It is a shame that she is missing it.”

“Yeah.” Quill, tips his bottle of beer, spilling a little on the worms. Under other circumstances Loki might have assumed he was trying to drown the creatures, but in this instance supposes he might be trying to feed them. “We should probably finalise arrangements to pick her up at some point.”

“She wanted a bit longer before coming back, the last time we spoke. She’s going well, less headaches and all that, but, well…” Rocket reaches behind him for another beer.

Which is all well and good, but, “Who’s Mantis?”

“Eh.” Quill’s eyes slide over to where Thor is apparently paying absolutely no attention to their conversation. “Kinda one of the crew. She sort of needed some space for a bit.”

So it was like _that_ then.

Loki tries to imagine Thor having a fling with a pretty girl. Is somewhat relieved to realise that he can, and easily. That being the case, it’ll be good to have her back, providing that she and Thor didn’t end on too acrimonious a note, or whatever it is that Quill’s not-really alluding to. After all, Thor looks like he needs a bit of cheering up at the moment.

Still, that does raise a rather important question. “Where will she stay?” Because romantic-feel-good endorphins or otherwise, Loki’s not sleeping on the floor while his brother romances his paramour.

“With me,” Drax says.

Which maybe means that Drax and Thor share a preference for the ladies as well as sparring. Loki can see this getting messy possibly. Probably. Then Drax goes and ruins this potentially delightful line of scandal by adding, “She is hideous. I would not want to put her in with Groot. He is young and might have nightmares.”

“Oh.” Loki doesn’t exactly know how to react to the news that Thor has been canoodling with ladies so hideous that even a plant can tell. It’s one thing to have noticed that Thor’s miserable enough that he’s not even seeking out company, but that his confidence is _this_ low…?

Unthinkingly Loki leans his weight more fully against Thor, trying without words to let him know that it’s okay now. He’s not alone anymore.

#

Loki’s charitable feelings last for approximately a further nine hours, most of which are spent asleep. Mission complete, they dock at the hospital planet of Qure. Loki waves Thor off with instructions to go and find them some bigger plant pots and then settles down to return Valkyrie’s call.

This time, though he gets through, it’s only to a harried looking man in fisherman’s overalls who, firstly, reels back in shock at seeing Loki – so apparently Valkyrie hadn’t got around to mentioning _that_ to anyone – and then, secondly, manages to spit out that the woman isn’t even there. What type of monarch doesn’t hang around by the comms set all day?

And no, the fisherman doesn’t know what message Valkyrie wanted to pass on.

Irritated and discomforted – because what if there’s a _reason_ that Her Royal Highness, Monarch Scrapper 142 was keeping his return secret? – Loki heads out in search of Thor. He’s barely stepped foot off the ship’s ramp than Thor, take away box in hand, is walking back past him.

“Forget something?”

“No.” Thor doesn’t even break step. “I’m going to bed.”

“But-” Anything Loki might say is cut off by the closing of the cabin door. And no, Thor hadn’t brought back any plant pots.

#

As it transpires, Thor might have demonstrated the most appropriate response when landing on Qure. It’s a dark and depressing place and, if this is where people go to get better – or die – then Loki would prefer less specialist medical advice.

There is a sizable market for the purchase of plants and their accoutrements and, though the goods run heavily to the floral and sweetly scented, Loki does find, at the back, a collection of dusty and presumably forgotten pots. His day’s almost back on target – it will be good to move the nibbleberries on if they want a good crop, and the Sapient Pearwood will thrive best with space to send down deep roots – so it’s especially vexing when his credit gets turned down.

A _very_ short check of the balance lets Loki know why. Apparently Thor’s managed, in the fraction of time he was off the ship, to spend the _entire_ contents of that account in the hospital canteen.

Briefly Loki considers storming back to their cabin, to the stash of credits _there_ from the gambling-disaster-of-which-we-do-not-speak. Or maybe he should just stand where he is, fuming, until the recent job’s payment comes through from Quill. Surely it can’t take more than half a day or so?

But in the end he takes the path of old fashioned functionality, handing over one of the slim golden bangles Thor had given him only weeks ago. Payment far too high for old pots and yet all that Loki has on him.

And then, when he gets back, he dumps Thor on the floor. There’s always more than one method of repayment.

#

If no good deed goes unpunished, then no punishment, no matter how deserved, can be aught but followed by ill.

Loki wakes in the small hours of the morning to a curious sensation of… emptiness. Of the void calling out to him.

For a moment he lies there, on his side, the hand under his pillow materialising a knife, while he battles to comprehend just what’s gone wrong. He only remembers banishing Thor from the bed _again_ at about the same time as he’s summoning the tesseract to flee whatever horror he’s about to see.

It’s a crushing relief to realise that his fear is all in his own mind. A relief, for he is currently safe. Crushing, for, alas, his own mind is the one den of monsters he can never win free from.

What he should do is roll over and fall back asleep. He’s an adult. A warrior raised in Asgard; home of warriors. He’s survived abandonment by Jotunheim’s monsters; falling off the edge of a world; and the highly dubious attentions awarded to a child of Thanos. A brief night terror is nothing to whimper over.

He doesn’t roll over; he sits up.

Thor says nothing about being woken by his brother joining him on the floor. It’s possible that he’s not truly surfaced. Unlikely, but possible. To cover his dignity, Loki’s happy to go along with that. He plans to deal with the morning when it comes.

Alas, that turns out not to be an option.

#

Loki wakes, sweat-slick and shaking, a scream tucked away in the back of his throat, painful but unutterable. It takes him a moment to realise that, this time, it isn’t his own nightmares that have disturbed his ‘rest’. Thor, a solid ridge of bulk between Loki and the doorway, is shaking.

The movement’s faint; subtle enough that, briefly, Loki assumes it some transfer of vibrations through the ship or perhaps proof that a god can, while sleeping, hiccup.

It’s not hiccups.

“Hush.” It’s no distance at all to reach out and place a hand to Thor’s shoulder. To touch the thick muscle, his hand closing around a mass of limb and giving blanket.

Loki doesn’t shake Thor, because that’s not necessary. Sleep for days without end as Thor may, his rest never seems truly deep enough to be therapeutic.

Thor doesn’t startle at the touch, but he does freeze. Only a faint panting breath disturbs the droning clunk and hum of the ship’s air circulation. For a moment Loki assumes that this will be it; their nightmares have now succeeded in waking them both and, in a moment, in the darkness, they’ll close their eyes, relax muscles in necks that haven’t even raised heads from pillows, and then they’ll attempt to sleep once more.

Instead Loki’s hand loses its purchase as Thor moves; his upper body rearing away from Loki. There’s a click and then light blazes forth, bearable only in that Loki had sufficient warning to close his eyes.

When he opens them again, Thor is staring at him as though he were Heimlaug-volva. Except that blind old Heimlaug had been a seer, and thus in such moments could actually _observe_ the mechanics of the universe and one’s destiny.

The moment stretches, an eternity of discomfort with Thor propped up on one elbow, staring down at him. While it stretches, Loki finds himself all but frozen, as uncertain of what a single movement of his may trigger as ever he was around Ebony May’s torments. The cold floor of their cabin is _definitely_ not a suitable place for this breakdown, whatever it may prove to be.

Then, just as abruptly as the strangeness came, Thor slumps back into the blankets, one hand rising to massage his temple. “Sorry. Headache.”

“Headache.” Really? It’s Loki’s turn to sit up. He regards his brother.

Thor’s free hand is already reaching out, flailing for the lamp. But his right hand… That’s still all but covering his mechanical eye. Oh, Thor doubtless believes that the small circular motions he’s making, fingertips pressed against his forehead, look like he’s trying to stave off pain. It’s just that Loki’s a master of pretence and trickery and misdirection; something about this entire situation…

“Maybe you should take it out.”

Thor’s eyes – both of them – are wide and alarmed. “_No!_”

Odd.

“If it’s causing you a headache,” Loki enunciates carefully, feeling like he’s dealing with a concussed warrior or a sleepy child, not this mash-up of the two, “you should take it out.”

“It’s fine.” Thor rolls over, back to Loki. And though it’s how they always sleep, how they’ve slept since that hideous first night when Loki couldn’t even _relax_ through the sounds of Thor’s snoring, it none-the-less and for the first time truly feels like Thor’s turned his back on him.

#

It took Loki long enough to fall asleep that he’d hoped that, just maybe, he’d find sufficient exhaustion, if not peace, to rest until noon. Naturally, for the first day in what must be weeks, Thor is the one to wake first.

That’s not the worst of it. For it appears that, not only is Thor back to slowly eating his way through junk that really shouldn’t be called food, but also that the throwing up has returned.

Loki had thought that they’d got over that, too.

Even though he knows that this is all an artefact of Thor’s own illness, still it’s impossible not to try to attach some portion of the blame to himself. To consider that, apparently even mostly-invincible gods are susceptible to being destroyed by prolonged exposure to a wretched monster like Loki.

#

In the past, any problem Loki encountered could be solved by: one, plotting vengeance upon the troublesome individuals; two, turning the troublesome individuals over to a suitable authority, be that Odin or mother or Thor; or three, studying until it went away. The last had been the tactic Loki most often used when dealing with Thor.

The current situation might have called for option two; a session with mother. However, reality being what it is, Loki falls back on his _current_ method for dealing with any problem encountered: bathing.

Admittedly, that’s because the only problems he has these days that are worth not running away from relate to Thor. When it comes to handling Thor, Loki’s massively out of his depth, so having found something that works he’s not going to change it. He’d always thought that the manipulation of Seidr was the most important thing he should learn from their mother. Apparently not.

Plan of action decided upon – again – Loki opens one of the boxes more usually stored under their bunk and rummages through it. Bundles up a number of items and presses them upon Thor. Thor looks at the clothing, but otherwise says nothing.

“Stop standing there like a statue. We’re heading out.” Qure is full of bathhouses, saunas and steam rooms. Physical therapy is a wonderful thing. Loki’s certain he can finagle some time in one of them. Although, with that thought in mind…

He scoops up one of the more charged credit chips on his way out of the door.

They’re actually almost free of the ship when reality tries to catch them. Admittedly, Thor doesn’t _look_ free. He has his head down; face almost blank and eyes downcast. Loki had thought he’d be glad to see the back of those hideous sunglasses; apparently Thor does not concur.

Damn. Loki hates that he knows that he’s going to be searching out replacements in the far-too-near future.

“You’ve got a comms call!” Quill yells after them. Loki ignores him. Whatever it is that Valkyrie wants, she can damn well leave a message. Anyone would think she was the queen of them or something.

“Where are we going?” Thor talks as he walks; focussed determination in both actions.

Loki wishes he’d spent some more time planning things. Unfortunately the wonder of traveling the galaxy from one startling new experience to another expressly prohibits the type of familiarity he now craves. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Is this too much of a little thing to lean on the Norns’ guidance for?

Thor, thankfully, doesn’t call Loki on his lack of forward planning. Instead his arms, banded around the mass of towels and clothing, tighten their grip. It looks, for all the worlds, as though Thor’s trying to hide behind the bundle.

“Hey now,” Loki takes a chance: he reached out, across the space between them, letting his hand rest in the centre of Thor’s back. “It’ll all be fine.”

Thor doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t shy away from Loki’s touch either.

#

Whether it’s the Norns’ will or otherwise, the small bathhouse Loki settles upon is the most cheering place he’s yet stumbled upon while on Qure. To be sure, that’s no glowing endorsement, but it’s better than nothing.

And the rooms are mostly private. Previously that had never been a consideration; Loki might not have the build of a typical Asgardian warrior, but he’d grown up around them. Public nudity wasn’t exactly a big deal.

That had been _before_.

It’s not slipped Loki’s notice that Thor, while not exactly bashful, has been struck with a certain level of self-consciousness. Furthermore, that the last few weeks seem to have edged that self-consciousness with a highly-polarised reaction to being around other people; sometimes good, often not.

Hence Loki has a preference for a place with separate bathing chambers.

Indeed, alone in privacy, Thor seems to perk up. He’s currently rummaging through a collection of ‘treatment’ options both comprehensive and brilliantly packaged. “Brother, this bottle claims to use colour therapy to improve metabolism.” That said while Thor is holding what appears to be a bottle of swirling-immiscible dyes.

And then, “Brother, have you seen these tablets? Apparently they dissolve to release a rare herbal extract from the planet of… hum.” He peers more closely at the packet. “That seems to be smudged.”

Loki leaves him to it. Focussing on sorting through the collections of toiletries and brushes he’s brought along with him, he almost misses the significance of Thor’s sudden cessation in movement.

Then Thor lets out a ragged breath. “Do you ever think about the other one?”

“The other what?” Loki says, pulling loose strands of hair from a brush and cremating them; wondering how he’d let such a witches’ trove accumulate in the first place.

“The other timeline.” And then, in case _anything_ could distract Loki from the implication of that: “Your original one.”

Loki’s blood rushes chill, then hot. “Why? Do you want me to go back?”

He only says those words because he _knows_ the answer. Of course Thor doesn’t want him to go back! True, Loki’s not always had the best of ideas, Asgard-as-was for example, but he hasn’t upset Thor’s sanity _that_ much. Thor wants Loki here, by his side and-

“It might be safer.”

Loki slams his fists down, knocking a small bottle with an alarming price-tag. Beads, golden and shimmering, go scattering everywhere.

Before he can say anything, he’s told, “I seem to be bad for the lifespan of those I love.”

It’s a surprise to look up and see that now, of all times, when his temper is so close to the surface, Thor has chosen to look right at him. Worse, to look intently enough that it’s as if he is looking _through_ him.

Loki sighs. Braces his hands on the countertop and lets his head flop forward. Wonders how he’s going to collect all of the beads; how he’s going to get through to his brother.

Why he’s bothering.

A shadow falls over him; Thor come to stand besides him, steps cat-light as ever. “Loki?”

There are a hundred things Loki could say. That _yes_, of _course_, he wonders what will become of his multiverse’s Thor. What will happen to _this_ Thor. How his own life, effectively lived on the run from his own timeline, will play out.

“Get in the bath.” He says. Because he’s tired, and because he has no answers.

For a moment he thinks that Thor will argue, but then he sighs, turns away from Loki, and lowers himself into the waters. He’s not added anything to the bath that Loki can see, and so, ignoring the spilt beads as a problem for later, Loki heads over to the display of sweet-smelling goo, intent on picking something out.

The first thing he encounters is a slim sachet of Mint and Pepper Oil; one of his favourites.

For a moment he’s tempted to pour the contents in the bath, for all that he knows Thor dislikes the scent. It’s fair payback for Thor’s unexpected attempt to dig through the past. Then he realises he’s likely holding the _trigger_ for that hiccup in the day’s plans.

So, instead he picks up a tube of something promising to contain a light and fruity scent. Again, decidedly not Thor’s first preference, but also one unlikely to evoke darker thoughts of guilt and destruction.

And, yes, he pockets the oil. It _is_ one of his favourites.

Kneeling by the side of the bath, Loki grimaces. Just like everything else in the room – hel, on the planet – the bath’s sides aren’t quite right. Too high to sit comfortably besides; too low to kneel besides; and altogether too sloping to place one’s arms upon comfortably.

About to pour some water over Thor’s hair, Loki first takes a few quick passes with a hairbrush, the faster to remove any snarls. And there he stalls, startled.

“Are you okay?” Thor’s tone is forced levity. “Have I managed to catch nits from the holding cells? Or is my hair coming out in patches?” And he might be joking about going bald, but it’s a stretched-and-nervous type of humour.

Loki makes the mistake of saying, “Um.” Because that’s always the most reassuring sound one can utter.

“Is everything-?” Thor stops his question there. Still hesitant. Or perhaps afraid of uttering his darkest concerns.

Loki presses a kiss to the parting, the only reassurance he can think of in the moment. “All good. Just a knot I was working at.”

“Oh.” And the tension ebbs from Thor’s neck and shoulders.

Loki looks at the hair under his fingertips. The roots are definitely dark. Almost black. Loki pauses again, his brush holding the hair parted.

Thor shifts, restive where he’s sitting. It’s not movement enough to pull his hair free, but rather to draw more hair, dark and darker yet, through the tines.

Has Thor’s hair always been this way? Yes, Loki knows that the sun bleaches it from honey to near-white at the tips, an effect of Thor’s long hours out of doors. But he’d never before realised _just_ how dark it grew at the root.

Unless this is new; some sign of something… something else. Something that Loki is not familiar with.

He really should have copied more of the texts from the libraries of Asgard.

Well, it’s too late for that now. Whatever this is – the hair, the flinching, the criminality – he’ll just have to keep his eyes on it. Surely it will all make sense soon?

#

When it’s Loki’s turn to lounge, he has more sense than to use the oil packet he’s secreted away. Instead he adds something with a gelling texture to the waters, rendering it thick as melting snow-sludge and wonderful to recline in. The odour leaves something to be desired – for it is strange; half-chemical, half-reminiscent of food – but it’s a slight enough scent, and Loki doubts it will haunt him when he leaves this place.

No, that honour belongs to his troublesome companion.

But he will give Thor marks for trying to make such troubles up to him. For if Loki has worked tiny braids into the front sections of Thor’s hair, then Thor has risen to the challenge. Loki’s hair has been looped into open, almost womanly, plaits. And among those gently twisted strands of hair, Thor has managed to array a truly alarming number of the golden beads that Loki had earlier spilled.

It reminds Loki of the witches of old; the ones who had woven spell-anchors into their hair, the better to ground their power. A deliberate imitation on Thor’s behalf, or simple coincidence?

Once Loki would have assumed the latter. Now he’s not so sure.

#

After Qure, they head to Knowhere, where the mysteriously fearsome Mantis has decided to meet with them. All but obliterated though the skull-city might have been, pirate-miners are a hardy bunch. Or, perhaps more accurately, a desperate one. Knowhere thrives.

The same cannot be said for their crew’s harmony. The fault is all Thor’s. Briefly so relaxed at the end of their sojourn on Qure, he spends the entire journey arguing with Quill; demanding without reason that they turn aside from their route; growing more and more agitated with every passing day that they don’t.

Thor’s every argument is punctuated with frantic glances around the crew; not so much attempting to gather support, but rather… regarding them.

Like dials on an engine.

Loki doesn’t like the comparison.

If Thor’s behaviour is trying for Loki, then he’s far from the only one to suffer. Nebula, thankfully never one for needless company, retires to her room and Gamora actually seems willing to spend time with her sister rather than loiter in the crew area. Admittedly, avoiding Quill might have something to do with that. Groot shuffles off, with true teenage angst, to his own cabin. Loki’s a little concerned that he’s stolen a cutting of the Pearwood, but, frankly, if Quill and Rocket aren’t concerned, then it’s hardly Loki’s place to interject. As for Quill himself, well, he’s listening to music. Again. And Drax, eternally, needlessly, distractingly, sharpens his blades.

As if Thor wasn’t bad enough, their other companions could drive Loki to crawl out of his skin with stress.

Rocket, alone, seems to rise above it all, though his eyes track Thor’s movements continuously. Loki _almost_ considers asking his opinion.

It’s probably no more informative than Drax’s.

Put bluntly, reaching Knowhere is a decided relief.

#

Loki leaves the ship first on the strength of the argument that he needs to contact Valkyrie. He makes sure he leaves Thor far behind. He needs this break.

It’s a shame that it’s a break taken somewhere so… pungent. For the hollowed-out skull, no matter what else its properties may be, apparently does not have the amazing filtration units of the Kalmian ships. As such, even years after Thanos’s assault, Loki can taste a lingering burning at the back of his throat. It’s either generated by that or the mining process’s noxious by-products.

Loki’s not keen to linger long enough to need to learn the difference.

Several conflicting sets of directions later, Loki reaches a suitable establishment, leans against the counter and parts with his credits. For a long distance connection to an obscure planet, that’s no small sum, though thankfully not quite so high as to have to barter his remaining golden bangles or, worse, his dragon scale.

Transaction completed, Loki picks absently at the side of a poster announcing the latest crime-hierarchy-come-government’s laws, and waits for someone to answer.

No one does.

Irritated and most decidedly _not_ in a better frame of mind than when he departed, Loki returns to the Milano. The ship, for once, appears achingly empty and a quick query to the ship’s systems confirms what he dreads: Gamora’s already left. With her went Loki’s preferred option for working out his stress. His knuckles aching with the need to strike out at someone, he heads for his cabin.

The Norns are definitely laughing at him, for they guide his steps, mind focussed on blood and pain and exertion, to the one thing he _truly_ most fears: Nebula. Who is standing in his cabin’s open doorway on this eerily deserted ship.

His feet stop, halfway down the corridor from her. Hands behind his back, he summons blades. Can’t seem to hold them steady. “Hello?”

She looks away from whatever it is that has caught her attention, those too-alive eyes of her’s locking in on him. “Loki.”

Eyes aside, her face is inexpressive. Is she here to kill him? Probably not, given that she’s avoided doing so thus far. Is there some message he needs to receive? Because he’d have been quite happy to be left a note. Or to miss the message entirely, come to that.

And she won’t simply come out and _tell_ him what she’s standing there for, apparently awaiting him. “Anything on your mind?” Beyond dismemberment, that is. Oh, but he really doesn’t want to hear the answer to this.

”The plants.” Nebula gestures into the cabin; from where he’s standing the angles are awkward, but Loki _thinks_ that she’s indicating a nibbleberry. “Is any of this edible? For humans or the like?”

Loki can’t imagine why she’d want to know. Why would _she_ care about human nutrition? Until, abruptly, he realises that he knows _exactly_ why she might wonder. Irritation overrides some of his fear and his hands stop shaking.

“No. Definitely not food.” He’s not having Quill coming along and helping himself. “They’re all utterly inedible.”

Nebula’s brow folds; a single perfect frown line. “But-”

“And I need to be going.” He turns on his heel and flees even though it means leaving her there, besides all his worldly belongings. There’s nothing in that room so important that he’ll stay, alone in the Milano, with that twisted creature.

All the time his back is turned, Loki’s aware of her gaze following him, an itching presence between his shoulder blades.

#

He’s barely made it to the space-dock’s main entrance when he runs into Thor. Accident or instinct? Just how far _is_ he letting the strings of fate guide him these days?

For a moment the unease washing through Loki has nothing to do with the very real and far-too-familiar fear of bodily torment, and everything to do with losing himself to the singing of the cosmos. Mother had always said that-

But then, mother had never listened closely enough to evade her own fate.

“Loki.” Thor’s hands are on his shoulders; the loud booming of his voice filling the air: so determined and certain that there’s no space for dark recollections or fears of doom. “For it is good indeed that I have found you! I thought that perhaps we could go to the spa or perhaps to match forms in the gymnasium and-”

_Yes_, Loki had wanted to fight. But with Gamora, not with Thor. Not today. Not right now, when everything has been just a little bit too… much. When Thor is so… First with the arguing and the stress and the tension, yet now like this; happy and smiling and-

Loki gives him a shove back. Gently. Less out of exasperation or a need for space, and more as a tiny bit of self-punishment for being so weak as to crave the reassurance of Thor’s presence.

“Loki? Are you well?”

It’s a question disjointed from reality, for Loki is merely shaken and irate in equal entwined quantities. It leaves him feeling vaguely nauseous and doom-ridden. Surely a bit of time alone will help?

“Loki?”

But it’s Thor who, with emotions switching near fast enough to induce whiplash, now looks near terrified. His eyes are wide and his breath comes in short. “What’s happened, Thor?”

“I-” Thor blinks, rapidly. And he’s doing that _looking_ thing again; staring at Loki too intently. “You should come with me,” he says, but it feels like Thor’s reading, listlessly, from a script that he’s little interest in learning.

“Go where?” Why? What in the Nine Realms is going through Thor’s mind _now_?

“I-” Thor stalls; his fingers twitch then his hands drops, the better to grip his axe’s handle.

Loki tries to find determination enough to steel himself. For whatever this is, it’s clear that it’s tearing Thor apart; that some form is disruption is needed. “Talk to me!” He tries to speak in a gentle and cajoling manner; tries to step in close, the better to offer comfort should it be needed. “I can see that something’s troubling you.”

Thor, the most tactile person in Loki’s life, shies away.

It leaves Loki oddly sad. “Please?” Is it too unbelievable to say he can help?

“Nothing’s wrong.” Thor is ever a terrible liar. “Let’s just go and-”

“Tell me the truth, Thor.” That shouldn’t be too hard; not for Loki’s brother.

“It’s just-” Thor’s eyes are darting madly from side to side; a sure sign that he’s trying to come up with a convicting lie, which, frankly, is offensive to Loki’s professional sensibilities.

Just when Loki’s about to tell Thor not to bother, he looks Loki straight in the eyes, having apparently reached the same conclusion. “Here.” He forces his bundle of shopping into Loki’s arms. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ll see you later.” A long, tortured pause. “Be careful.”

And then, because it’s clearly a day for Odinsons to deal with things the coward’s way, Thor takes off. Loki decides that he’d have preferred the unconvincing lie.

For all that it’s not, it feels like a long, exposed walk back to the ship on his own. Loki drops off Thor’s goods and sits on their bunk waiting. Not for Thor’s return, but rather for some degree of comprehension. For as much as Loki wants to feel angry at Thor’s imposition, his mind can’t stop worrying that he’s missing something. That Thor’s playing a game, and he can’t even see the board.

#

Loki does, indeed, see Thor later. It’s just at rather a distance.

There’s a limit to how long anyone can stare at the far wall of a tiny cabin waiting for inspiration. For Loki this time limit is not very long, even though, if he does say so himself, the wall houses an arresting array of plants. He takes a walk under the guise of trying to imbed the colony’s current configuration in his mind.

It doesn’t take him long to pick up a shadow.

While Loki prowls the streets, walkways and dubiously-safe ‘public transportation’ systems of their latest port of call, he’s aware of steps dogging his own. At first it’s creepy. Loki’s no stranger to lingering in places where he really shouldn’t, or to treading paths long since left undisturbed. Indeed through his travels he’s prided himself with developing a fine understanding of his own safety in such situations; useful even on top of his inborn indestructability.

Then he’d had his rather uncontrolled fall into the void and experienced, well, _everything_ that followed.

Loki’s learned a lot about indestructability since. Number one being that an amazing capacity to absorb damage is often not nearly so brilliant as everyone else seems to think it will be.

Regardless, he’s pretty certain that the only people in Knowhere that he’d struggle to overwhelm should they trouble him are the people he’s brought with him.

Which is when he realises that his stalker is Thor; footsteps rendered unfamiliar by an utterly unnatural pretence at sneakiness.

For a moment – one that Loki will deny to his dying breaths; all of them – he is completely and utterly _terrified_.

And then he remembers that, unstable or not, this is Thor. Warm exasperation flowering within him, Loki turns around. “Can you _please_ stop acting like a child playing ‘hunt’?”

Okay. Not exactly words of support and judgement-withheld, but then Thor is being rather… odd at the moment.

And for that moment Loki thinks that it’s all a playful game after all. Thor’s frozen mid-step, face almost comically shocked, as though he can’t believe that the _God of Tricks_ would spy him. His eyes – one blue, the other brown – are wide and…

Loki really, really finds it annoying how fond of the fool he can feel.

Thor turns and _leaves_.

Loki gives chaise. Thor starts to run. Loki’s actually darted down several twisting, dank passageways before it crosses his mind that, one, this is an utterly _disgusting_ route to take; and, two, Thor’s moving far faster than he would have when they first met up.

He’s so pleased with this obvious sign of improvement in Thor’s physical health, that it takes Loki another minute’s chaise to realise point three.

He skids to a stop, dirty water splashing up over his feet from puddled condensate.

Because point three is that Thor doesn’t run. He doesn’t sneak. He doesn’t lie. He _certainly_ doesn’t evade.

Even considering how broken and… weepy and… _confused_ Thor’s been recently, _this_ is something utterly… _other_ to how his brother should be. Loki simply can’t envision anything that could have caused-

Loki’s thoughts flash to a sceptre; one with some _very specific_ properties. He feels sick, because _surely not-_

Whatever _did_ happen to it in this multiverse? Are there other such tools and-?

The tesseract sings. Its tune is that of freedom and a vastness of opportunity; all now within Loki’s reach. For maybe the best thing Loki can do is to leave? Then he can calm down, and Thor can… Well, of course, then Thor would be all alone and-

Loki could take Thor with him. Maybe. If they go somewhere remote…? Perhaps whatever ill influence this is can be… counterbalanced?

Almost without thinking, he starts to walk again, this time not so much seeking Thor out as simply wandering, his thoughts churning wildly, throwing up images of the past; dreadful possibilities of the future. His earlier plan to learn the routes of Knowhere seems without merit and certainly lack in urgency, for, truly, when is he likely to return and, in a place as inconstant as this, even should he retrace his steps, will it still remain as it is?

Take, for instance, the ‘river’ he’s walking alongside. Flowing bilious goop seeps along its route, encouraged by periodic pumping stations. The entire thing smells utterly foul and, as it is likely mined directly from one of the skull’s inner sinuses, is doubtless both a biohazard and of a rather finite nature. In truth, the current supply route cannot continue to exist for long.

And then? Learning this path he’s taken; completely irrelevant.

He sighs; leans against a wall, watching the flow. A handful of people pass him by. Are they too out for a stretch of their legs? Or going about their daily tasks? None of them are Thor, though Loki can the tug of his Seidr nearby. He wonders whether Thor is ready to stop his skulking and join him yet.

It doesn’t seem very likely.

Eyes closed, Loki tries to relax; tries, more to the point, to look through things afresh and understand where everything went wrong. He’s certain it wasn’t before Asgard. But _on_ Asgard? Thor’s been raised his whole life there, so unless this is some rather messy psychotic break, then there shouldn’t have been anything capable of causing him harm there.

Unless it was the transition itself? The bodged tesseract-bifrost-weaving?

Loki’s so distracted by the enormities of that – not the horror, not that, for such would mean that he’s taken responsibility for harm resulting the spellcasting’s failings – that he doesn’t notice the woman coming to a stop, barely twenty strides from him, until she suddenly takes a lurching step forward.

Into the river.

There’s a blur of motion – _not_ Loki; he’s not so stupid as to play about near noxious waste – and then a splash.

Under normal circumstances, Loki would go about this business; in this instance standing around, wool-gathering. But he’s fairly certain that part of the splash was caused by Thor, going in after the girl.

Loki doesn’t exactly run over. It’s unlikely that there’s anything here that can do lasting harm to Thor. Well, besides Loki and the tesseract. But he does move rather more sharply than he should, almost slipping as he comes to a stop by the edge of the goo.

When the woman’s flung up, spluttering, onto the footpath, it’s clear that Loki’s still more than a little too close. His boots bleach a strange shade of puce where the splashes strike.

Thor follows the woman a second later.

“You smell disgusting.” It’s important that Thor understand this. He wants to, but doesn’t, add: Why are you following me? What are you so worried about that you can’t let me out of your orbit? Why can’t you be easier to help?

Thor, because apparently he does not have the correct priorities in life, and also because he both has a thing for protecting the helpless and spending time with beautiful maidens, ignores Loki in favour of leaning over the coughing woman. Girl. Adolescent. It’s hard sometimes to place the age of mortals – harder still when their face is hidden behind strings of sopping hair – but Loki’s fairly certain that she’s young; even by her own species’ standard.

The girl recovers enough to shove Thor away and scramble to her feet. “I didn’t need some bloody hero.” She leaves wet footprints behind her when she departs.

Loki tries to lighten the atmosphere: “Well, that’s gratitude for you.” But Thor’s gaze, following the woman, is troubled.

#

Thor looks careworn on the walk back; more so that merely walking in dripping clothes should warrant. More so even than justified by having interrupted an attempted suicide. Loki’s gearing up to say, “I’m worried about you.” He’s going to say it soon; honest. Just, maybe when they’re back at the port? Or on the Milano? Or, when there, once they’re in their room?

Thor beats him to it.

“Why?” Loki laughs. “This is the best I’ve been in the last decade.”

Thor doesn’t smile with him. Before he heads for the shower, he gives Loki a long considering look. “Please. Just be careful.”

#

Loki is always careful, so Thor’s warning is somewhat insulting. He broods over it as he tends to the plants in their cabin. The nibbleberries are almost ready to start fruiting, while the dreaming-grass is sending out runners, apparently ready to invade the surrounding pots.

It seems a waste to destroy the extra stolons, but he needs the other pots to support their existing residents. And, if everything lives and grows, there will be no room for additional pots; certainly not with duplicate plants. Instead Loki harvests the shoots; carefully folding them away into his inter-dimensional pockets lest he needs to walk in the dream realms or receive a true-vision or… well, any of the plant’s other uses.

Maybe he could even use them to walk through Thor’s dreams.

For a moment the shape of the required spell is so clear that it almost seems to hang, fully formed, before Loki. A tincture of the dreaming-grass, flavoured, just slightly, with the nightbalm; smoked in the char raising from the burning of strands of Thor’s hair; drunk right before they fall asleep.

He’d had an entire hairbrush full of Thor’s hair, only days before!

Clearly this is going to need to be a longer term plan, unless… Turning down the blankets, Loki searches in vain for so much as a single strand. Then he turns to the things stored under the bed; in the bedside cabinet.

An hour later, when Thor opens the door, he’s sitting quite still, worried and angry in equal parts.

If Thor’s startled to see their room torn apart – except for the plants, Loki knows his plants well, they’ve definitely not been disturbed by Thor – then he doesn’t show it. Instead he sits down besides Loki. Nods to the small, priceless, definitely-not-the-type-of-thing-they-own trinket in Loki’s hands. “That was meant to be a surprise.”

“I am definitely surprised.” Loki agrees. “Do you _want_ to get thrown in prison or something?” Because, honestly, at this point that’s the only explanation Loki can see. That Thor thinks he deserves punishment so much that that he’s trying, frantically, to receive some.

Loki thinks of Thor – hair matted in blood, flesh torn and dirty – in some cell somewhere. Shadows gather about the image, and the echoes of screams. There would be _things_ in the bedding and worse in the interrogation rooms where Ebony Maw would be standing by, a thousand shining implements at his disposal and-

“No.” Thor’s voice, troubled but even, pulls Loki from his horrors. “It’s not like that. I’m not…” He lets out a frustrated sigh; scrubs his hands across his face and into his hair. Strands knot and coil around his fingers and Loki should be paying attention to see where and if they fall. He doesn’t. The spell just doesn’t seem to matter right now. “I know it must look odd, and I’m _sorry_ that I can’t explain, but, well, I’m not. I’m honestly just helping people.”

His eyes dart to Loki, as though weighing up his face; weighing whether he’s believed or not.

But at least he’s _looking_ at Loki properly. None of those strange glances. “I promise you, Loki, I’m trying to be good.”

Loki wants to laugh. Or maybe weep. Because when _hasn’t_ Thor been good?

He does neither. “And this?” He indicates the priceless artefact he’s holding.

“It was a gift. Given in thanks.” Thor says, apparently defensive. Though that just leaves Loki aching to ask _for what?_

He doesn’t ask.

Thor continues. “I thought it would be nice for you.” Reaching over, he takes the small charm from Loki’s unresisting fingers. He leans closer and there’s a brief tugging sensation as he affixes it in Loki’s hair.

Loki picks up his dragon scale and charms it into reflecting.

The trinket does look rather fetching, shimmering in his hair. He can’t decide whether the shadow of Thor’s secrets makes it more or less so.

#

Loki wakes, too slowly, to the sounds of shouting.

For a moment, despite being cocooned in warm, soft comfort, he’s lost in screaming, cold pain. His mind swirls, disjointed, in the disruption cast by the sceptre, and he should be able to break free, save that every direction he looks is bleak and miserable.

“I said no!”

It’s Quill’s voice that acts as the linchpin to reality; the one person who has no part in any terror Loki’s actually lived through.

Loki blinks, and realises that he’s back on the Milano; that it’s night and that, apparently, Thor is awake and has left their little cocoon of safety. More to the point, that he’s left to argue with Quill. Again. “We _have_ to-”

“No! Mantis is-”

“We can meet her somewhere _else_ and-”

“She’s already coming _here_. Why would-”

“Please! We have to go and-!”

Loki levers himself up. Sits there on the edge of the bunk for a moment and wonders whether or not he can actually find the energy to deal with Thor’s indefinable mania right now. Seriously contemplates the possibility that Thor’s acting on some nefarious plan developed to torment him into returning to the dubious safety of his original timeline.

Wonders if, maybe, it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Even thinking of leaving Thor – haunted, frightened, fighting to be better – leaves Loki sick to his stomach. Loki can’t do it. Rather, he staggers out into the corridor. Passes a blurry-looking Rocket and a pissed-off Gamora. Reaches the cockpit. Stands there, hands steadying him against the doorframe as he sways groggily, and tries to conjure words to soothe this midnight racket.

“Shut up!” Well, that gets him their attention.

“Loki! Don’t-” Quill starts to snap, which is lovely, but he isn’t the one that Loki was talking to.

“Thor, I have no idea what is going on with you, but stop it.” Thor’s face is frozen; startled and angry. “We are staying on Knowhere-” however little Loki actually likes this place “-until we are done. Which is in…?” He glances at Quill.

“Three more days.” Quill says.

“Three days.” Loki confirms. “Now come back to bed.” He turns and leaves the room.

It doesn’t surprise him when Thor doesn’t follow.

#

The next three days are… not good.

Oh, on the grand scale of Loki’s life, there have been many worse days. Days of pain and torment and simple mindless homelessness and void. But in terms of tedium and passive-aggressive sulking?

Thor doesn’t come to the sauna. Thor doesn’t continue his training. Thor doesn’t sleep – well, not that Loki’s aware of. Thor won’t sit down to eat with the rest of them. Thor isn’t bothering to talk with them.

It’s all rather depressing; more so for the fact that, alone in the dark of his room, Loki wakes screaming from one nightmare after another.

The good news is that, judging by the discontinuation in police summons, Thor’s criminal education seems to have ended.

It’s the only good news.

As the days crawl by, explosions of temper come more-and-more often. Thor demands again that they leave. Quill threatens to throw Thor off the ship for mutiny. Thor does nothing to diffuse the situation. Only Rocket manages to calm things; talking Thor into going for a walk. He looks at Loki, as though wondering whether he, too, would like to come along on the terrible attempt at normality.

Loki declines.

In fact, Loki declines as much as he can. He’s tired, but, more than that, he’s not certain he’s helping Thor.

Everything seems to end in doom and failure when he’s involved. He’d thought he’d been helping Thor back when he arrived, but look at what’s happened! He clearly pushed, too hard and too fast. Didn’t give Thor the time and space that he needed to heal and instead threw him into the nightmare of memories that was Asgard-as-was. What should have been a quest for a spell to save people seems to have crushed Thor.

And the joke of it all? That Loki had thought, back when he heard about Thor facing down that dragon, that maybe it had _helped_ him.

Loki should never have become involved with his brother. Thor had been doing well enough with the Guardians. Loki should _never_ have allowed himself to become to integral to that recovery. Alas, he has become involved and so all has been corrupted.

#

It’s early, and he shouldn’t be out drinking. If there’s one universal constant, it’s that loss of control never works out well for him. On the other hand, Loki’s already tried everything else. He waves over the bartender.

There’s the dull scrape of a stool being pulled out besides him. “Water, please.” Thor: hijacking Loki’s order.

“That better be for you, not me.” Even the words Loki utters feel rote. The recent easing he’s felt of late around Thor seems to have run its course. Instead Loki can barely muster the energy to look at him.

When he does, Thor appears almost as hang-dog as Loki feels. When his water arrives, not without some disapproving muttering from a barkeep too foolhardy to realise that _two_ drunken gods is the absolute last thing they should want, Thor toys with the glass. Water sops up to the sides and back again; strangely hypnotic as Loki waits for it to spill. It doesn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Thor says. “I know that I’m being…”

Loki waits for him to put a name to it, because, frankly, he really wants to know just what it is that Thor _thinks_ he’s doing; what description will cover, if not justify, his actions. But Thor seems struck mute.

Loki turns back to his own drink. Raises up the tumbler, “To us.” For, truly, this interlude has been the best they’ve been together for a long time now. He downs the liquor, wishing it were harsh enough to burn. That it isn’t, is merely one in a long list of disappointments his own choices have led him to. He stands.

There doesn’t seem much point in saying goodbye.

#

He’d thought he was good to go. That he could just walk out of the establishment, and thence away. To walk until he reached the end of the galaxy and then keep on going, this broken thing they’ve created lost in distance and time.

Thor catches his arm as he turns to go.

“You know I love you, brother? Right?” Thor’s face is cast in shadow, the bar’s lighting turning his hair into a blazing corona and somehow striking a strange slimmer over his mechanical eye. Some artefact of its design, doubtless.

Loki doesn’t know what to say to that. To the look of loss in Thor’s face. Like he knows that Loki’s going for good. Maybe it doesn’t matter that Loki is rendered wordless, for his throat is tight, incapable of emitting sound. Maybe the drink had some kick after all.

He doesn’t exactly shake Thor loose, but he does ensure that he’s released. Then, plans for a subtle escape changed, he draws forth the tesseract. Faster is better. Why linger?

The tesseract’s glow, blue and ethereal, spills across the room, beautiful and rich in glory. Loki hadn’t realised that, even so sad as he feels, it would be possible to smile.

It’s only when he’s shaping all of that power that he looks back at his brother. Just one moment of weakness: a last glimpse to remember him by.

Barely an instant has elapsed; time enough for Loki to alter his plans; for the tesseract to sing with delight. A heartbeat that’s short enough to see the look of horror still etching itself across Thor’s blue-lit face.

Thor lunges for Loki.

“No!”

#

Loki blinks. He’s standing in their cabin. His wrist is tingling strangely, the skin there expecting the warm grip of Thor’s fist. Thor, who had been too slow to prevent his departure.

For a moment Loki seriously considers going back. True, he’d known Thor would take his departure badly, but that look at the last!

Instead of returning, Loki starts, mechanically, to remove pots from the walls. Really, he needs to come up with some sort of system for storing the plants in his pocket dimensions. They’ll be invaluable in his journeys but he’ll want to be able to find and use them easily later.

He’d collected them for Asgard’s survivors. Not his own gain.

For a moment his fingers stall, caught up in his own conflicting intentions. He forces himself back to action, no matter how miserable and sick to his stomach it makes him feel. After all, what’s to stop him from taking the plants directly to Valkyrie now? He can just turn to the tesseract and go. Can walk along the winding path of the mortal realm and-

He really doesn’t want to go to Midgard. Not to fulfil a prince’s duty nor to see people who he’s meant to care about. Even standing here, he’s filled with dread.

“So, instead I’ll go to-” But here he stalls. _Where_ does he want to go? Where is good? Safe? Interesting?

It would be but the work of moments to place the plants on a proverbial doorstep in Norway.

Are there any competent gardeners among Asgard’s refugees? What if the plants wither and die?

He’s holding the nightbalm, Loki realises.

The absolutely correct thing to do is to leave it on the bedside cabinet for Thor. It’s not even like it’s that rare of a species. Or that potent a one. So that’s all that Loki needs to do; just put it down, finish packing, and go.

Loki sits on the bunk, cuddles the plant close, and _bawls_.

The door hisses open. “Hey, Loki. The computer registered your return and I thought it’d be a good time to introduce-” Quill’s eyes seem to catch up with his mouth. “Or maybe not.”

Needless to say, Loki _would be_ mid-breakdown when someone new arrives; a pretty-enough stranger with long antennae on her forehead, who stumbles from where Quill had been starting to push her into the cabin. Loki raises a hand to steady her, but she goes a vague shade of sea-sick, stumbling back a step. For a moment she and Loki just look at one another. Then she turns her back and flees.

“Um. Mantis?” Quill calls after her.

#

This is the last straw. Loki knows that. The final nail in the coffin. The armour that will break the war charger’s back. Pick your metaphor; Mantis’s retreat – because of _him_ – is it.

They’ll get kicked off the Milano. And, yes, Loki was already on his way out of the door, but Thor _isn’t_. Thor’s upset and he needs a hug (thanks Drax), a good dose of common sense (Rocket) and a roof over his head (Quill). Loki’s never assumed he’s good enough to stay the distance with Thor, but to utterly burn his world to the ground on the way out?

“I’ll go find her!” He’s already sweeping up the dragon scale and a short length of chain from the table. One for power, the other for simple mechanical necessity. “I’ll be right back!”

_Don’t hold this against Thor!_

Everyone’s come to look in on the disruption. Loki ignores them; quickly coiling the chain around the scale and his Seidr around them both. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on that fleeing girl.

“You’ve got a comms call, Loki, and-” Nebula: because no dreadful moment is complete without her there to make it worse.

“Tell her, _not now!_” Can’t he ever get a break with Valkyrie?

“Her? It’s Thor. He sounds rather… Well, he’s clearly worried and-”

But the make-shift pendant has already begun to swing. Loki turns around it, following the approximate direction, then makes to leave the ship. “Later.” He can’t go dealing with Thor; not now. Not on top of this.

“I am Groot.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m not stopping you.”

Leaving the shelter of the Milano, Loki’s boots splash though puddles and rain slicks his face. Footsteps sprint after him: Groot and Gamora are with him at least. It’s only as he nearly slips upon turning a corner, that it crosses Loki’s mind to wonder whether it should even be _possible_ for it to rain inside a hollowed out skull no bigger than a small city.

Thor: losing control of his powers. Is there no end to the harm Loki’s managed to cause?

The rain, at least, has one good aspect. The pendant swings, hard and determined, to point at a nearby shop front. Mantis has not run far. Just, of all ironies, to a public sauna. There are heavies guarding the entrance.

Loki races forward; nearly there.

“It’s ladies only.” Gamora’s reaching out to bar his way.

Loki doesn’t even break her pace as she slips under Gamora’s arm. Instead she flicks her hair over her shoulder, smiles back at her shipmate and steps inside. “Yes?”

Inside, the shop is choked with steam. A corridor stretches out to either side of the front desk, and is studded with doors. In the sudden obscuring mists, Loki forces herself to stop and _think_. Randomly charging about – that’s an Asgardian habit – it’s certainly not going to help with this type of mess.

No, she needs information.

And she could just follow the pendant or- Slipping the dragon scale into a pocket, Loki smiles beguilingly at the receptionist. “My sister just ran past.” She’ll save the question of _why_ Mantis left so abruptly for another moment.

“She’s yay high,” Loki gestures, “black hair. Antennae.” She holds up the shimmering chain. Drops it to pool on the polished counter. “I need to find her.”

The words are barely past Loki’s lips before the receptionist is nodding to the left. The chain’s already hidden away.

“Charming place.” Loki smiles at Gamora.

“I’m not sure you-”

Loki ignores whatever folly’s going to cross her sparring partner’s lips. “Will Groot be okay alone outside?” Because today she _really_ needs to remember to minimise harm.

“He’s a Groot.” Is Gamora’s flat reply. “_You_, on the other hand-” Loki keeps on walking forward. Glances into one room and then another. “-are going to be in _so_ much trouble.”

It sounds like a threat to summon someone’s guardian, but Gamora’s fingering her sword nervously. Unlike Thor, that’s _not_ a common comfort gesture.

“Let me guess.” Loki asks. “The local crime lord’s mistresses bathe here?”

“The local crime lady’s mother.” Gamora corrects, and pushes Loki back so that she, instead, can peer into the rooms. “So the less we can claim that you’ve seen, the better.”

Which is pretty insulting; it’s nothing Loki hasn’t seen before. Nothing she hasn’t _been_ before. Well, apart from maybe that lady with tentacles and claws.

“Why’d she run?”

Because, to be sure, Loki’s not a fan of people seeing her cry. In fact, up until the last couple of months, she’s pretty certain it’s centuries since it happened, and centuries longer since she let anyone _see_. That aside, a few tears are hardly that dreadful to stumble across. The Guardians seem to get regularly involved in intergalactic battles; dramatic rescues; and ransacking some utterly hideous and abandoned locations. Tears, by contrast, are tame.

“She’s an empath.”

“Ah. Damn.” Loki takes all her previous judgement back. Reassesses her previous understanding of Quill’s implication that Thor and Mantis had somehow been linked. “Let me guess. She left the Milano because Thor was, well, you know?”

Loki only catches the edge of Gamora’s grimace as she ducks into another room, but that’s enough of a confirmation. “It wasn’t his fault. There’s not much space on the ship and strong emotions are apparently just… strong.”

“You don’t say.” There are days when Loki would happily crack her own skull open to stop feeling her past; she doesn’t want to imagine experiencing everyone elses’. “Blocking must have got tiring.”

“Blocking?”

Mantis’s voice is as sweet and petite as the rest of her. Large, dark eyes gaze up at the witch and, now that Loki’s aware to look out for it, she can feel the woman’s perception tingling across her Seidr like caterpillar fur against leaves. The skin-to-skin contact earlier when she tripped must have been an emotional shock.

“Blocking.” Loki agrees, careful to pull the weave of her Seidr tighter; to trap the fraying coils of her hopes and fears closer to her core. As she does, she’s distantly aware of just how… sick she feels. A strange premonition that she’s been too distracted to note ‘til now, but one that tastes as though something dreadful is coming.

Here Loki has been hoping that, by finding Mantis, she can _prevent_ dreadful things from transpiring! Had thought to keep Thor’s place safe on the ship. “Blocking to keep it all out? To control your empathy?”

Mantis’s antennae droop. Oh, Norns, but someone much have taught her that?

Loki coils her Seidr even tighter, the better to shield the woman from her. And Mantis frowns. It’s not a disapproving folding of her brows, but rather a puzzled one. “What are you doing?”

“Warding?” Loki suggests. “Shielding? A little bit of mental housekeeping?” Though if the two of them are to share the same ship for any time, Loki will have to make a ward to take the strain of the spell. And one for Thor, too. Maybe she can even etch the wards onto one of those golden beads; have Thor weave it into her hair, as the fancy had taken Thor last time?

Then Loki remembers that she’s leaving.

It makes such sense to feel a surge of pain that it takes her a moment to realise that someone’s stuck her. Thankfully Jotunn and Aesir alike have thick skulls. Loki’s merely driven to her knees, stunned but aware.

She looks up, blinking, and sees the world around her in snapshots. Mantis is being held at gun point. Gamora’s compliance is forced by that threat. There’s a large blaster muzzle pointing directly at Loki’s face.

“No male should dare defile the sanctity of-”

Everything’s moving oddly; possibly it’s concussion. Loki’s aware that she’s hurt and on her knees. That she’s about to die. That Thor will grieve. Again. That the last moments they’d shared had been her abandoning him and refusing to take his communication.

It’s almost absurd.

Mantis has her eyes closed, and Loki can _feel_ potential gathering around her, though the exact flavour is hard to discern. Rather, when Loki tries to reach Mantis’s magic, it seems to leave Loki’s Seidr numb. Her eyes are suddenly heavy, which is not ideal when Loki’s trying to reach the tesseract to flee.

Such a foolish way to die!

Then, in tandem, the guard over Loki collapses; the one holding Mantis is stabbed.

Loki’s seriously impressed with Mantis’s witching up until Nebula steps out of the shadows. The cyborg roughly cleans her bloody blade then sheathes it and reaches down to take Loki’s arm. Loki’s dragged to her feet. “We need to get out of here now.”

#

There’s a trick to getting out of places where violence has broken out. The main part of the trick is to be better armed than everyone else. Loki’s never been a slouch in this area and always carries lots of knives. Arguably time with Thanos sharpened those early skills amazingly though, personally, Loki could have lived without that Finishing School.

But leaving a salon with two daughters of Thanos and an empath who can apparently lull others to sleep? Yeah, there are definitely worse ways to tackle a fight.

Outside, the slap of cold rain on her face shakes Loki free from the dregs of Mantis’s power.

Lightening is crashing through the neighbourhood; impossibly summoned. It highlights Groot and, besides him, the other Guardians. Thor.

Before Loki can take Thor to task for carelessness, she’s dragged into a tight, almost painful, hug. “She got to you. Oh Norns! Nebula got to you.” And: “Five minutes!” Thor gasps the words in between shaking Loki and peppering her forehead with frantic kisses. “You were down to five cursed minutes.”

All of which is honestly more confusing than lovely. Loki has no idea what Thor’s talking about. She wants answers and wants them quickly. More than that though, she wants not to die either by the hands of irate sauna guards or an unintended lightning strike.

She reaches for the tesseract, summons its fire, and moves them all sideways.

#

Later. Much later. When the Milano is out in space; when Mantis is bedded down in Drax’s room (and no, Loki’s not certain if that’s romantic or platonic); and when Quill has stopped screaming about the astronomical fines and prohibitions their unauthorised departure likely just incurred. After all that, and after Thor has stopped babbling to Nebula like she’s his own personal miracle worker. _Later_: there is peace and calm.

Well. Of a sort.

Loki sits on the bunk and looks at the chaos she has made of their home. The plants scattered everywhere. The cabinet overturned in his haste to leave.

Thor sits on the floor, near to Loki’s knees. He hasn’t commented on the mess. Instead he’s still mulling over Loki’s retelling of events. “They were ready to _kill_ someone for using what they thought was the wrong bathing hall?”

Loki shrugs. The back of her skull still hurts. The nibbleberry’s crushed leaves would make a poultice to help ease the ache, but the nibbleberry is in a pocket dimension; Loki’s not energy enough to bother redeeming it now. “Evidently.”

“Awful.” Thor is petting Loki’s ankle; the closest part he can reach. Neither of them seem to have wherewithal to move closer.

Truly, Loki just wants to close her eyes, slump back against the cabin wall, and fall asleep. With Thor. Here. Not somewhere else.

“What hel is going on, brother?” She asks. “Five minutes? What was all that about five minutes?” Because, unfair and asymmetrical as it may be, she can’t exist in a relationship with Thor, where Thor tells her lies and withholds secrets.

Thor sighs.

And Loki knows, there and then, that their little family is over. Just as the dread in her belly hours earlier had been the Norns warning of her impending death, this cold sickness is premonition that Thor won’t meet her half way.

Thor shuffles forward. Lays his forehead on Loki’s knee. Loki lets her fingers thread into Thor’s hair. Tries to enjoy these last few moments of kinship before they burn their relationship down with deception.

“I made a pact with Hela.” Thor says. “Back when we were on Asgard. She altered my eye in exchange for, well, for there maybe being no Ragnarok. And now I see when everyone’s going to die.”

Loki keeps up the motion of her fingers through Thor’s hair. Less to soothe either of them, and more because she’s too startled to _not_ keep going.

Faced with silence, Thor elaborates. “It’s why… all the crazy. I’ve been trying to… change things. And it’s worked!” He jerks his head up, eyes eager to meet Loki’s. Then they fall. “Sort of. Sometimes.”

Five minutes. Thor had said that, the last time he’d seen Loki, Loki’s time had been down at five minutes. Well, that makes some sense of the frantic lunge to hold on to him; the comms call to Nebula; the-

“You sent Nebula after me.” And Nebula had gone. To save Loki. In a different reality, maybe that would have changed how Loki felt about her.

“It _is_ possible to change people’s fate.” Thor says this as though it’s a revelation. As though he’d once thought that, if the rivers of fate were dammed and stoppered, they wouldn’t find some alternative route to flow along. “You’re back at-” But Thor silences himself even before Loki has to.

Maybe he knows that some things are best not spoken of.

Instead, the next time he speaks it is to say: “Loki, your count went down so very, dreadfully fast. You need to be more careful.” This, from the guy with a cursed object in his head! Loki’s going to give him hel. Really she is. Because there is no way that Thor can be allowed to keep that disaster-waiting-to-happen in his skull.

She’s about to say as much, except that the door chimes, then opens. They look over. Rocket coughs in that embarrassed-but-I’m-doing-it-anyway manner unique to people who are absolutely, utterly certain that they’re going to be interrupting.

Loki snarls at him. Rocket’s return snarl – mouth full of small but very functionally sharp fangs – suggests that this intimidation tactic might have worked better on another crew member. “Your scary Viking lady’s called.”

“I’ll call back another time!” Surely it’s obvious that she’s busy here?

“Yeah. No. She says she needs to talk to you both _now_. On Earth. Apparently some guys from a place called Jotunheim have landed.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, if anyone’s wondering where all the money went in the Qure’s canteen, Thor felt so bad over all the death he could see that he basically brought cake and hot chocolate for _everyone_.


End file.
